Who, little ol’ me?
There was a faint coughing noise from the direction of the clerk’s office, behind the podium. Dexter whirled around—then jumped almost a foot into the air.
It was the D.A. himself—Thomas LaBelle. He was a sturdy, handsome man, broad-shouldered and slightly graying. His countenance emanated calm, mature strength. And he had a reputation for being unwilling to put up with any unprofessional behavior.
It was from bad to worse for Dexter, and he knew it. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t seem to make any words come out.
“Nick, do you mind?” Not waiting for an answer, LaBelle stepped behind the podium, nudging Dexter into the background. “Why don’t you return to your office, Nick? I’d like to have a few words with you, as soon as I’m done here.”
Dexter obediently skulked away.
LaBelle adjusted the microphone for his greater height. “I’ve just been on the phone with the team I sent this morning to the Court of Criminal Appeals.” In the space of a sentence, LaBelle had transformed the tenor of the press conference. Where before they’d had Dexter’s blustering and fumbling, they now had LaBelle’s considerable and imposing presence. No one was going to mess around with him. “I’m pleased to announce that the Court of Criminal Appeals has agreed that the apparent concealment of evidence, outside the control of the law-enforcement community, justifies the reopening of the Keri Dalcanton case.”
Like the pro he was, LaBelle waited a few moments to allow the audience to absorb what he had said. “There will be a new trial. And we will do everything imaginable to see that justice prevails.” He paused, making eye contact, not with the reporters, but with the cameras. “This time, I will handle the trial myself.”
One newspaper reporter raised his hand, almost timidly. “What about the charges against Kincaid?”
LaBelle didn’t blink. “Given this latest development, the murder charge will be dropped. We believe Keri Dalcanton is the murderer, and we will focus on her. We will continue to prosecute the charges of concealment of evidence and obstruction of justice against Mr. Kincaid. We will not oppose a defense motion to release Mr. Kincaid on bail.”
Several more hands shot up, but a stony look from LaBelle was more than sufficient to tell them that, unlike Dexter, he was in charge, and he was not interested in messing around any further with their questions. “Thank you,” he said curtly. Then he disappeared.
The crowd dispersed. Christina stopped Karen and LeAnne before they left. “Thanks for the help, girlfriends. Give my best to Jeff, too.”
“Our pleasure,” LeAnne said. “Nick definitely needed to be reminded of a few things. Like, say, the Constitution.”
“Still, thanks.”
“Hey,” Karen said, “with your coaching, how could we go wrong? Nick should’ve known better than to take you on. Unless I miss my guess, he’s now undergoing a major chewing out—and possibly losing his job.”
Christina did not appear regretful. “I told the man he wouldn’t like me mad.”
Karen jabbed her in the arm. “Wait till Ben finds out. He’ll be impressed.”
“I’m not sure Ben would approve of this escapade. Even if it does mean he’ll be brushing his teeth in his own bathroom tonight.”
“Oh, of course he’ll approve. Tell me something—have women always run the world, or does it just seem that way?”
Christina and LeAnne spoke as one. “Always.”
“There is a problem, though, you know. Now LaBelle is on the case. And he’s a million times tougher to beat than Nick Dexter ever thought about being. He’s the best prosecutor in the state. Plus, after all this publicity, he’ll have his whole reputation—and his chances for reelection—riding on this. He’ll marshal all his resources to get a conviction. And his resources are pretty considerable.”
Some of the light faded from Christina’s eyes. “I know,” she said, as
There was a faint coughing noise from the direction of the clerk’s office, behind the podium. Dexter whirled around—then jumped almost a foot into the air.
It was the D.A. himself—Thomas LaBelle. He was a sturdy, handsome man, broad-shouldered and slightly graying. His countenance emanated calm, mature strength. And he had a reputation for being unwilling to put up with any unprofessional behavior.
It was from bad to worse for Dexter, and he knew it. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t seem to make any words come out.
“Nick, do you mind?” Not waiting for an answer, LaBelle stepped behind the podium, nudging Dexter into the background. “Why don’t you return to your office, Nick? I’d like to have a few words with you, as soon as I’m done here.”
Dexter obediently skulked away.
LaBelle adjusted the microphone for his greater height. “I’ve just been on the phone with the team I sent this morning to the Court of Criminal Appeals.” In the space of a sentence, LaBelle had transformed the tenor of the press conference. Where before they’d had Dexter’s blustering and fumbling, they now had LaBelle’s considerable and imposing presence. No one was going to mess around with him. “I’m pleased to announce that the Court of Criminal Appeals has agreed that the apparent concealment of evidence, outside the control of the law-enforcement community, justifies the reopening of the Keri Dalcanton case.”
Like the pro he was, LaBelle waited a few moments to allow the audience to absorb what he had said. “There will be a new trial. And we will do everything imaginable to see that justice prevails.” He paused, making eye contact, not with the reporters, but with the cameras. “This time, I will handle the trial myself.”
One newspaper reporter raised his hand, almost timidly. “What about the charges against Kincaid?”
LaBelle didn’t blink. “Given this latest development, the murder charge will be dropped. We believe Keri Dalcanton is the murderer, and we will focus on her. We will continue to prosecute the charges of concealment of evidence and obstruction of justice against Mr. Kincaid. We will not oppose a defense motion to release Mr. Kincaid on bail.”
Several more hands shot up, but a stony look from LaBelle was more than sufficient to tell them that, unlike Dexter, he was in charge, and he was not interested in messing around any further with their questions. “Thank you,” he said curtly. Then he disappeared.
The crowd dispersed. Christina stopped Karen and LeAnne before they left. “Thanks for the help, girlfriends. Give my best to Jeff, too.”
“Our pleasure,” LeAnne said. “Nick definitely needed to be reminded of a few things. Like, say, the Constitution.”
“Still, thanks.”
“Hey,” Karen said, “with your coaching, how could we go wrong? Nick should’ve known better than to take you on. Unless I miss my guess, he’s now undergoing a major chewing out—and possibly losing his job.”
Christina did not appear regretful. “I told the man he wouldn’t like me mad.”
Karen jabbed her in the arm. “Wait till Ben finds out. He’ll be impressed.”
“I’m not sure Ben would approve of this escapade. Even if it does mean he’ll be brushing his teeth in his own bathroom tonight.”
“Oh, of course he’ll approve. Tell me something—have women always run the world, or does it just seem that way?”
Christina and LeAnne spoke as one. “Always.”
“There is a problem, though, you know. Now LaBelle is on the case. And he’s a million times tougher to beat than Nick Dexter ever thought about being. He’s the best prosecutor in the state. Plus, after all this publicity, he’ll have his whole reputation—and his chances for reelection—riding on this. He’ll marshal all his resources to get a conviction. And his resources are pretty considerable.”
Some of the light faded from Christina’s eyes. “I know,” she said, as
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